Contemplation
by justice-in-the-sky
Summary: An older version of one of the boys talks to a dear friend about how he feels. Rated M for constant use of the F word. Dark humor towards the end.


South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker

"I'm the stupid one.

Come on, you know what I mean. Don't look at me like I'm fucking crazy.

God. You know, like how fans labeled The Beatles. Paul's the cute one, George is the spiritual one, blah blah blah.

We might as well me the fuckin' Beatles, the way we always travel in a pack of four.

Well, I think I must be the stupid one. Rest assured, I know I'm stupid. Or at least I was. But that was a while ago, back in third grade, even. I was practically braindead, it was a wonder I stayed alive.

"I remember back in the days of Mr. Garrison, with Mr. Hat and all that shit. Kyle was a straight A student and never failed to impress his big fat bitch of a mom. In fact, that may be one of the reasons I make fun of him so much, because he was so much better than me and it stuck. Well, I'm not an idiot anymore, but everyone still thinks I am. I just slack off. But this isn't my issue, my issue is my whole confusing existence, within my friends. Like I said before, I'm the dumb one. People who know me a little better would call me the mean one, or the nasty one, and people who know me a little less would call me the fat one.

"Kyle is the smart one, the compassionate one, the friendly one. People don't realize he's also the fucking angry one, and the stubborn one. I just call him Jew.

Our war is civil, sometimes we scream at each other so hard that i feel my throat turn red and scratchy even two minutes after he storms off, and yet we still hang out, still a solid unit of friends. I really couldn't give less of a shit if that butt fucker is Jewish, I just use it as reason to make fun of him, because it separates him from the rest of us. What the hell else am I supposed to make fun of him for? Ohh, Kyle, you have a stupid freckled face? Your hair is red? You're white? His religion is the easy way out. And the only reason I keep on persisting with this war is because he's not afraid to shove it back full throttle. You can only call Eric Cartman fat and call his mom a whore so many times.

"And yet, we're still friends. I've found that fact stranger and stranger over the years. Now that we're teenagers, I can even tell he's thinking about it too, after we have our daily scream fest, and I can feel his enraged, bloodshot glare boring into the back of my head, I can tell it's replaying in his mind over and over.

I think it would be weird if I didn't know Kyle anymore. Our group of friends would be like a broken toy, if he figured out one day that he didn't have to take this shit from me. Something would be missing, and sometimes I look at him and he even looks like glass, I feel like if I knock him around too badly he'll break into a million pieces, and will never come back. And no Kyle means no Stan, obviously, because they share a stronger bond than the four of us ever will. I wish I had a best friend too, and it would be Kenny if I kept my mouth shut about his financial problems once and a while. But forget Kenny for a second, I want to talk about Stan.

"People see Stan as the shy one, the sensitive one, the cute one. His jet black hair in contrast to his shockingly blue eyes make him the subject of schoolgirl fantasy. He was the first one in our class to have a girlfriend, fucking Wendy Testaberger. Her hazel eyes always shining, and always flipping her silky black hair around Stan like he was her cute little pet, until she got fed up with him and dumped him fer Token. She got straight A's, and had quite a temper as well. She was Kyle in female form, and that's all I needed, another fucking Kyle. But she wasn't Jew, she was Hippie, because she was so crazy about dolphins and all that other Hippie bullshit. It's all the same crap. And Stan! Fucking lost it after the breakup in fourth grade, started dressing all in black and writing poetry. One of the only things Kyle and I ever agreed on is that that was, as Stan himself would say, pretty fucked up. So I came up with some labels for him in my point of view, including the girly one, or the neurotic one. Damn, he has the weakest stomach, and he's fucking scared of so many things! Hospitals, needles, snakes, you fucking name it, Stan's got the phobia, to this fucking day.

Damn, I say fuck a lot.

But another thing I suppose I have to consider is that, on most days, he'll be the only one to take me, when he and Kyle aren't hanging out, because Kyle doesn't hang out with me alone, so sometimes it's me and Stan, which leaves Kyle and Kenny to doing something else. So I guess I'll give him that. Still, it wouldn't hurt him to disagree with Kyle a bit more, since Kyle is always disagreeing with me.

"I guess I'll have to talk about Kenny now, since we've got no one else. When Kenny died for several months, and was in the hospital before that, I really was sad. The whole fetus thing? I kind of thought of that last minute. I hugged Kyle in the hospital hallways that day, Stan was outside, escaping his phobia of sickness and hospitals, so Kyle had no one else to talk to when he came upon me crying against that wall after visiting Kenny. I don't cry, not unless I know someone will give me something I want if I do. Those were the first real tears I had felt for a few months, which just shows how much I care for Kenny. I like to believe, in my head, that Kenny is my best friend, and I like to set out and try and make it a reality, but I always end up insulting him, his family, his poorness. One time, when I was alone with him, and there was an awkward silence, for only the reason to fill up space I told him I hated him. I remember him casting his dark blue eyes in a glare through strands of his unruly blonde locks, and me feeling horrible, but saying nothing of it, as usual.

"He takes so much shit from me too, and I never get into fights with him like I do with Kyle. I used to have brown eyes, before they grew fuzzy, and instead of keeping glasses, I took Kenny's good eyes from his dead body once, and now my eyes are the same color as his. I'm sure he must have noticed them when he came back to life, but said nothing of it, and I think we're similar in that way.

Well, people would probably regard Kenny as the perverted one, the quiet one, or the clumsy one. I would say he's the lucky one.

In the end, he always comes back clean and unhurt.

"I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I'm not sure where I fit in with all of this. The shy one, the friendly one, the lucky one. They all sound like they could be friends. But would you expect them to have a mean one hanging out with them? Shit, no.

I don't know.

The guys are coming over soon anyways, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Thanks. Sometimes I feel like you're the only on I can trust."

Cartman smiled and looked at the beaten up stuffed animal sitting in the seat in front of him.

"Thanks again, Clide Frog. I should put you away before they get here to play video games. If they see you out, they'll have my balls for sure."

Cartman picked up the stuffed animal and the chair, and walked inside, not noticing a blonde, a redhead, and a raven haired boy looking over the fence blocking his backyard with stunned looks on their faces.

End.


End file.
